


Just What We All Need

by Black_Calliope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pack Feels, stupid boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Calliope/pseuds/Black_Calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every single time, Derek lets Stiles in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What We All Need

**Author's Note:**

> (Late, so very LATE) Commission for shantalmalfoy through the [sterekcampaign](http://sterekcampaign.tumblr.com/). Prompted by [this gorgeous fanart](http://itee68.tumblr.com/post/45994156906).

Stiles wasn't meant to hear those words. He knows.

He knows because, usually, Derek's frown and his crossed arms are there, waiting for him out of his front door. Every single time, Derek's lips close around a bitter remark, a cutting comment that the Alpha tries to bite back. And yet.

Every single time, Derek lets Stiles in. Gone are the days when he'd block the door with his body, physically stopping Stiles from entering his world. Derek's small world is made of half-crumbled walls and a few, old and battered, pieces of furniture. _Just like him, just like everyone else_ , Stiles always reminds himself.

That's why he's kept pushing, long fingers resting against Derek's firm chest, nails digging into flesh until _just go_ has become _come in_ , until _don't_ has become _why_.

There isn't a real reason, no easy formula that Stiles could lay down in front of Derek's eyes, numbers and letters talking in Stiles' place, telling a story that both of them know too well by now.

 _Thump, thump, thump_. Stiles' heart doesn't know how to lie.

It's a pity. And, sometimes, it makes him so damn angry, that his body would betray him like that, lay down his feelings as if his heart was a tarot card. Warm, young, strong. Only waiting for a clawed hand to turn it over.

But Derek doesn't seem to mind. He always stares openly back at Stiles, pats him on the shoulder even if he knows that Scott doesn't like it much - maybe just _because_ Scott doesn't like it -, and he talks to him, about plans and strategies and witty, dry jokes that no one but Stiles would get.

A crack in a black, stony wall. A ray of light.

But not tonight.

Tonight is made of blood and angry, desperate cries. Tonight is made of Derek and his pack, the ones he bit, the ones he _chose_.

"I warned you. I warned you not to get involved, and you _disobeyed_ me!" There is nothing human in Derek anymore. His growl sounds like thunder and shattered glass, makes every single hair at the back of Stiles' nape stand. Danger, danger, danger. _Run_.

And yet he takes another step forward, his fingers curling around the broken edge of the wall.

Boyd's eyes are wide open, his claws digging inside Derek's thighs as he holds onto his Alpha. Stiles watches him breathe as another gush of blood colors him in dark, never ending red.

"Derek," Isaac whines, desperate urgency in his voice. "Don't let him die. Please, please, don't let him die."

Erica is crying in a corner. A small ball of black leather and blonde hair, her red lips trembling as she stares at where Boyd is laying on the carpet.

"Idiots!" Derek shouts back, incoherently, all rage and sharp teeth.

Stiles watches as Isaac takes a cautious step back and Erica sobs get wetter. She starts clasping and unclasping her fingers, twisting them, and it makes Stiles want to step into the room and close his arms around her, whisper to her that everything is going to be okay, that Derek will take care of this, of them.

Only- Only Stiles isn't sure that he would be welcome, isn't sure that Derek won't harm _him_.

Probably he'd deserve that. Hell, who is he kidding, he definitely deserves that, deserves to be the one almost choking on his own blood, fear and pain screaming in his eyes because please, make it stop.

From the other side of the living room, Boyd wheezes, one clawed hand slashing the back of Derek's shirt in the desperate attempt to hold onto something. "You. Don't you dare to die on me," Derek growls back. "Dammit."

And then Stiles catches the way Boyd's legs start trembling along with Derek's hand on his chest. "Isaac," Derek calls.

Together. Stiles watches as they sew back together the toy that Stiles, little, stupid Stiles has broken. Only he almost let one of his friends die, and the thought makes him so nauseous, so fucking sick, that for a moment the world spins around him, colors and shapes melting together in a new, blurred reality.

And then- "That dumb, reckless kid," Derek is saying, pale yellow light spreading from his fingertips to the gash crossing Boyd's chest. "He shouldn't have- I'll fucking _kill_ him." And he's trembling, clearly shaking with rage even if Stiles can't see his face. And maybe it's a blessing that he isn't able to.

Half-hidden behind the wall, Stiles smiles. A sarcastic, poor smile that leaves whatever was beating inside his chest winter cold and, just, numb. And it doesn't matter that Boyd's fingers close around Derek's wrist or that Erica falls on her hands, kneeling on the floor and shouting that it wasn't Stiles' fault, that the hunters came out of nowhere, that they are the ones Derek should be punishing because- "We let them take us by surprise! Please, Derek, you have to believe-"

But Stiles' knees are about to give in. He can't witness this, can't think about the desert that he, once more, burned around himself. There is no way he can make things right, not this time.

"I know!" Derek's voice sounds like a mountain crumbling down. "I know," he repeats, calmer, steadier. "And it makes me want to kill each one of you. And you stop clinging to me, it's embarrassing," he gently swats Boyd's hand away.

Erica sniffs, taken aback. Isaac is just staring at Derek, as if he's just lost the ability to put words together. "We didn't think-" he stutters, palm still flat against Boyd's almost healed chest.

Derek snorts. "Of course you didn't. Or it wouldn't be so difficult for you to understand why I'm so angry." He stands up, blood dripping from his fingertips to the already soaked carpet. Stiles' breath catches in his throat. "We always, _always_ , protect the weakest members of the pack, we do not let them jump right in the middle of a battle." An intake of breath, his blood-stained fingers against Erica's still wet cheeks. "We protect our humans."

Our. Property. Pack. Stiles' world spins on its axes.

"But then why." He hears Erica ask in a tiny, trembling voice, way different from the angry growl she'd used in the woods when she'd yelled to Stiles to stay back, run away from the clearing where the hunters had found them. She looks wild now too, with her ruffled hair and the dark smudges of mascara under her eyes, but in a different way, like she's lost something that only her Alpha can find.

And maybe Derek knows perfectly what that little something is, because he kneels in front of her and palms her cheek, uncaring of the red marks that he'll leave on her skin. For the first time since he's known him, Stiles sees an almost fatherly look in his eyes. The look of someone who doesn't want to lose the family he's so slowly rebuilt. He watches as Derek hesitates. Only once. "Because," he says, "he isn't yours to protect."

There they are, the words that Stiles wasn't supposed to hear.

The wall feels cold under his fingers and Stiles hangs onto it, his legs almost failing him for the second time in the span of a few minutes. His chest feels tight in a whole new way and something starts to ache inside it, just as, piece after piece, everything starts slotting together. Small touches, long looks, whispered, amused words that Derek has been sharing with him. Only with Stiles. All this time-

"You did well," Stiles hears Derek reassure Erica, his forehead resting against hers in a comforting gesture while Isaac finishes to take care of an almost healed Boyd. The smell of fresh blood is still too strong in the large room but none of them seems to mind it. "Just promise me you won't be so careless next time. You howl, I come. No matter what, I'll come for you."

In there, in those short, simple sounds, are enclosed all the things Derek has never told them. And not because he didn't want to, Stiles knows it, has come to understand it in the past months, just like Isaac, Boyd and Erica did. They've grown closer to Derek in a way no one could have ever predicted they would.

Though it's still a surprise when Erica - gorgeous, strong, stubborn Erica - starts crying again, more quietly this time, her slender fingers finding Derek's shoulders and closing around soft, worn leather. "I know," she says, voice surprisingly steady. "We know, you moronic, crazy man." And then she's dragging him against her body, Derek's dirty hands making a mess of her dress as she holds onto the man who's gifted her with a new life.

Behind them, from where he is now sitting on the carpet, Boyd clears his throat. Loudly. “Pretty sure Stiles knows it too,” he rasps, nodding to where Stiles is still standing, half hidden behind the wall.

Erica’s lips part. Time stops.

There isn’t a proper way to describe what happens next, a word to depict the way Stiles’ heart jumps in his chest, stuttering and shying away from the surprise in Derek’s eyes. “I do,” he says, nodding, words slipping away before he can catch them.

No. No. No. He broke Boyd, he dragged them in the middle of the forest for a stupid experiment and one of them got hurt. _Don’t look at me like that_ , he wants to yell to Derek. _I do not deserve you._

An outstretched hand. Gentle green eyes. “Stiles,” Derek whispers, reverently, like Stiles is the feral one here, like he is the one who needs to be _tamed_. It shouldn’t hurt so much as it does, but it’s a good kind of pain. “Come on.”

Derek.

Derek.

 _Derek_.

Stiles steps into the room. “I’m sorry,” he says. “So fucking sorry.” Once, twice, he repeats it until his voice is hoarse, until he’s falling on his knees in front of his Alpha, trembling and unsure and _so scared_.

Derek’s hands are there when Stiles holds onto them, his chest solid when Stiles seeks refuge against it. “It’s okay,” Derek whispers, lips pressed against the shell of Stiles’ ear, his voice a velvety, reassuring rumble. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Dirty talking anyone?” Boyd mutters from the other side of the room, just loud enough for Stiles to hear it too. The prick. Maybe Stiles should’ve have left him bleeding all over the forest floor instead of driving him back here, at least judging by how much he seems to be enjoying the situation.

“Oh, yes, take care of me, baby,” Erica half-moans from beside them, her absolutely disheveled look clearly not being enough to stop her from a good session of _let’s make Stiles’ life a big, gigantic joke_.

But Stiles refuses to let them win, especially since he’s just discovered that the space between Derek’s arms is, like, his new favorite place in the world to be. So- “I’ll murder you all in your sleep,” he threatens, though he doesn’t make a move to remove himself from the Alpha.

As for him, Derek murmurs something unintelligible, a deep rumble that rolls straight to Stiles’ chest, warming everything it touches.

A safe place, everyone needs it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
